Her phone buzzed. She opened messages and squinted at the username, not recognizing the avatar.
Sorry to bother you on a Sunday. Do you have any recommendations for things to do in the city? I’m at a ‘loose end.’
Who is this?
Sorry. It’s Ade Poole.
Sylvie chuckled. So Ade was sneaking into her DMs as well as her Sunday wonderings. The interruption wasn’t entirely unwelcome.I was just thinking about you.She groaned. Why had she written that? Of all things. It had just slipped away from her and onto the screen.
I thought of you too. That’s why I messaged.
Sylvie laughed. Of course Ade wouldn’t read anything into it. Hesitating, she scrolled to her calendar. A blank Sunday afternoon stretched down the entire screen. She replied before she had any more time to doubt herself.How about we go to the cinema? There’s a film on I’ve been itching to see.Three dots indicated that Ade was thinking about it. Had Sylvie overstepped?
Yes, please. Sounds good.
Meet me at Place Jean Jaurès. At three o’clock.
I will. See you then.
Sylvie second-guessed her invitation at least a dozen times before she wandered to the noisy square where she’d arranged their afternoon meet-up. Why she’d offered to socialize with one of her staff members, she couldn’t fathom. But there was something about the simplicity of Ade’s message which betrayed the confidence it took for her to reach out in the first place. Plus,she was merely a colleague. Sylvie and Isabelle met socially all the time. What difference did it make that she was, in theory, Ade’s superior? She forced the doubt from her mind and focused on the kindness she was showing a fellow academic as they found their feet in a brand new city.
She’d shown the very same hospitality and welcome to Elda when she’d turned up as a disheveled and chaotic artist five years ago. In fact, there had been many folks since, who had drifted in and out of her university circle. She’d met them for coffee or a glass of wine, enjoyed a concert or open mic night. None had really stuck around and had moved elsewhere through promotion or marriage.
Making new friends is a good thing.She repeated the mantra over and over as she turned the corner to the familiar square.
Jean Jaurès was already bustling with a late afternoon crowd as Sylvie took a seat at one of the street tables and ordered a glass of red wine. She wasn’t sure what Ade drank and didn’t want to presume. So far, their interactions had proven that Ade couldn’t be read that easily.
After a few moments, she spotted Ade and gave her a wave. “You made it,” Sylvie said as Ade approached.
“It’s not far. I walked down the Rue Foch, and it brought me out by the bakery. Do you know that one? They make the best pastries.”
Sylvie smiled, pleased to see Ade’s enthusiasm for her adopted city. “If you like pastries, I know a great place. I’ll take you there next time we meet.” She gestured to the seat next to her, facing the passersby. “Please, sit. We can watch people come and go for a while. The film starts in forty minutes or so.”
Ade took the seat and drummed her fingers until a waiter came to take her order. “I’ll have the same, please,” she said, pointing at Sylvie’s red wine. “Thanks for meeting up with me. Steph told me I needed to go out, and I don’t really know anyone, except you and the students. I didn’t want to go out with them.”
“So I came a close second?”
Ade’s eyes widened. “No. When I really thought about it, I wanted to go out with you. I really liked talking to you the other day in the lab.”
Ade’s straight talk was nothing short of endearing. The ability to say something without subtext and leave nothing unsaid was an undervalued attribute. Sylvie had been criticized badly for doing just that, burning the bridges of her friendships. She’d walked away from the scorched embers perplexed, as if the other party’s reaction to her honesty was entirely unwarranted.
Perhaps Ade could be an addition to her honesty circle. She straightened a crease in her blouse and leaned in. “I thought we’d watch a British film together. I’ve been meaning to see it for a while, and it’s on at the arthouse in its original version.”
“You’re not treating me to something local?”
“Is your French up to la nouvelle vague?”
“New Wave? I doubt it. But I’m improving all the time.”
Sylvie raised her eyebrow, impressed at Ade’s knowledge of the term. “Perhaps next time. This film is in the same vein. It’s a story told in the woman’s perspective of the male gaze.” Sylvie almost saw the cogs whirring inside her brain when Ade frowned.
“Tell me more about what you teach at the university. I feel like I’ve talked a lot about marine life, but I don’t really know anything about you.”
“That’s true. I know more about penguins than I did two weeks ago.” Sylvie warmed beneath Ade’s curiosity. “So, I’m a professor of European feminism. I lecture four times a week and run five or six seminars, depending on how big the year group is.”
“Sure.” Ade fiddled with her thumb ring. “But tell me why you do it.”
“That’s a more complicated answer.” Sylvie brushed a hair from her eye. “Part of me is passionate about the unheard stories of history. Part of me is half way up the ladder of academic success, and I can’t imagine not reaching the top, so I’m digging in andtaking one rung at a time.”
